


a sprightly blue (of the summer kind)

by firefliesandstarlight



Series: geraskier oneshots [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: :D, I wrote 4000 words and then I ran out of words for today so, M/M, They met, and then they leave but! with the promise of seeing each other later, anyway this is like, coffee shop AU, comments are appreciated!, first fic for the witcher, i tried okay, maybe I’ll continue later, they fall in Love™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefliesandstarlight/pseuds/firefliesandstarlight
Summary: Jaskier’s favorite coffee shop is bustling with customers, and there’s only one seat left— right next to Geralt of Rivia. They get to talking (well, Jaskier talks, anyway,) and something about them clicks.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: geraskier oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792660
Comments: 32
Kudos: 367





	a sprightly blue (of the summer kind)

It was a dark and stormy night.

Okay, not really. 

It was stormy, for sure, but it wasn’t night. In fact, it was approximately three in the afternoon, and Julian Alfred Pankratz—though he preferred Jaskier, much smoother,— had just gotten off of work. 

To be fair, though, it was stormy. 

His umbrella may have been as grey as the stormclouds above, but Jaskier was in a fabulous mood. One he may have described as bright pink, if he had to choose a color. 

Work that day was much better than he’d expected. Sure, a couple of customers had yelled at him, and he’d gotten a reprimand from his boss for “talking too much,” whatever that was supposed to mean, but he’d also thought of the bridge for his new soon-to-be-hit single, (once he got signed, of course, seeing as nobody had actually called him back yet,) and he’d found five bucks at the bottom of his bag, which was just enough for him to be able to afford his favorite coffee at his favorite coffee place downtown. 

Once he got through the rain. 

By the time Jaskier arrived at Beanz, his shirt was speckled with raindrops, and his beanie was rather limp, but his umbrella had shielded him from most of the rain, and his socks were still dry, so everything was, fundamentally, okay. 

There was no line, so Jaskier walked right up to the counter to order his drink. Contrary to the lack of line, however, there was no place to sit. 

Right as Jaskier was considering just leaving, a window seat spot opened up, and Jaskier practically skipped over to it. He sat down, letting himself bounce in his seat for a moment before settling. 

“Ah, the peace of a lovely, quiet coffee shop.” 

Around him, the din of other customers overwhelmed his words, and had he been unable to concentrate, their noise might have prevented him from thinking. 

“Lovely and quiet,” Jaskier murmured, leaning back and resting his head against what he thought was the window. 

The window moved, and Jaskier, startled, leapt to his feet like the dramatic little shit he was. “Oh! My sincerest apologies, good sir, forgive me, I thought you were…” He trailed off, finishing meekly with, “a window.” 

The man Jaskier had leaned against was, in fact, not a window. 

He was, however, in Jaskier’s eyes, at least, rather attractive. Despite the lack of sunlight outside and the complete lack of color in his all-black attire, the man’s shoulder-length, silver-y hair shone. (Privately, Jaskier thought this was rather unfair, as he washed his own hair frequently and could never dream of achieving the luster this man sported so effortlessly.) The man stared at Jaskier, nearly at eye level, he was so tall, despite remaining seated. Jaskier couldn’t help but notice how muscular the man was. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier whispered, only just then noticing that the man was reading a heavy-looking book that looked as though it might deal with occult-y things that Jaskier did not want to be associated with, no sir. “My bad. Forgive me.” 

The man sort of grumbled, though it might have been mistaken for a deep hum by someone who was not in the throes of panic. “There is nothing to forgive.” 

“Okay,” Jaskier squeaked. “Sorry. Again. Sorry, I know you just… sorry.” 

Had Jaskier been paying attention, he might have noticed the man’s smile—it was small, very small, and much too easy to miss, but it was there. As it was, Jaskier barely had enough sense to respond to his own name as the barista called it out, followed by his coffee order. 

Jaskier walked over to the counter and picked up his drink. He was fully prepared to relocate to another seat in the shop but, alas, the only one still open was the one next to the windowsill occult-y goth guy. 

“Mind if I sit here?” Jaskier asked, going for the you’ve-never-seen-me-before-don’t-look-at-me-too-closely-or-you’ll-recognize-me approach. 

The man nodded without looking up, but the moment Jaskier sat down and let himself bounce a little, the man looked up. 

“You were just here, weren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Mhmm.” Jaskier clutched his coffee cup tightly. 

“Ha,” the man said, leaning back in his chair and closing his book, a swatch of black leather peeking out from between the pages, clearly his bookmark. “Knew I recognized the bounce.” 

“Ah.” 

Jaskier and the man sat in silence for a while, Jaskier switching between looking down at his coffee cup and looking up and out the window at the rain. The man drummed his fingers on the cover of his book and looked around at nowhere in particular. 

“So. Jaskier, huh?” 

“Mmm.” 

“I heard the barista call your name,” the man said lightly, looking down at his book. “Don’t look so terrified.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier chuckled, trying to play off his expression as one of interest and not of absolute terror. “Well, since I got here too late to hear yours, do you have one? A name, I mean.” 

Internally, he was kicking himself. Smooth, man, real smooth. This guy is literally worthy of a literal ballad, he’s so… can’t even describe it, can I? But to the man, who had set aside his book and was now holding his coffee in one hand, Jaskier hoped he looked calm and collected and not at all like a mess. 

“Geralt,” the man said finally, taking a long sip of his coffee but not breaking eye contact with Jaskier. 

“Well, you can’t poke fun at Jaskier, man, I mean…” For the third time, Jaskier couldn’t force himself to finish his sentence. “Geralt?” 

“What? I like it.” 

“Well then, I think it’s lovely,” Jaskier said with a nod, taking a sip of his drink and taking the opportunity to close his eyes and break eye contact with Geralt. Jesus, the guy was intense. He put down his coffee cup and decided to take a stab at conversation. “Have a last name, Geralt?” 

“Of Rivia.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Geralt of Rivia.” 

“Alrighty then.” Jaskier picked up his coffee cup and took another sip of his drink, a small (oh, who was he kidding, a very large) part of him wishing it was alcohol. 

“You?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Last name.” 

“Oh! Right. Ah, well, technically it’s Pankratz, but I like Jaskier better.” 

“Jaskier Jaskier?” Geralt looked mildly perplexed, but Jaskier had to give him credit— he didn’t look the slightest bit impolite. Perhaps because he was so… passive. 

“No, just Jaskier.” 

“Alright, then, Just Jaskier.” 

“No, I—”

Geralt smiled, or at least, looked like he might get close to it. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you.” He picked up his book and flipped open to where the piece of black leather was holding his place. In a moment, he was lost in its pages. 

Jaskier was not one to give up conversation once he had it. 

“What’re you drinking?” 

“Sorry?” 

“Drinking. Your coffee. Personally, I like vanilla lattes with whipped cream, and sometimes caramel sauce, if I’m feeling rich. Costs an extra fifty cents, you know, but it’s worth it, I think.” 

“Black coffee, no sugars, no cream.” 

“Oh!” Jaskier blinked several times. If he was being honest, he wasn’t really expecting a reply. “Well, I’m sure that’s a brilliant coffee. Must be refreshing.” 

He couldn’t help but think that Geralt of Rivia was exactly the type of person to order and actually drink a plain old black coffee. 

“Favorite color?” 

“Is this a personality test?” 

“Nah, I just like carrying conversation.” 

Geralt didn’t look up from his book. “Black.” 

“Do all of your sentences about yourself contain the word ‘black’?” 

“When I introduced myself, I didn’t use the word black.”

“But you just used it again, just now. Is there, like, a minimum requirement for how many times you are contractually obligated to say the word ‘black’ in a conversation? If so, who hired you? I’m jealous, I wish I’d thought of that.” 

Jaskier couldn’t see Geralt’s face, but if he could’ve, he would’ve seen that Geralt was mildly amused. 

“Okay, here’s a test. What color is your hair, which, by the way, is really aesthetic and I wish I looked that good?” 

Geralt looked up from his book and made steady eye contact with Jaskier. With a completely straight face, he answered. “Black.”

“I’m in love,” Jaskier said, only half-joking. He grinned and sat back in his seat, taking another sip of his coffee. “Only joking.” The quick addition was a direct result of Geralt raising an eyebrow and looking incredulously at Jaskier, who, understandably, panicked. 

“Shame.” 

If Geralt had been the type, he would’ve smiled. 

~

Four hours passed in a blur, what with Jaskier talking and Geralt listening and occasionally replying. Customers left and arrived all around them, and they both finished their coffees long before they realized the cups were empty. 

By the time eight o’clock rolled around, Geralt knew lots about Jaskier, and Jaskier knew a bit about Geralt of Rivia, who apparently did not like volunteering information. 

One of their exchanges, one which reflected their respective personalities quite well, went as follows: 

_Jaskier:_ And I painted my room blue, you know, like the summer sky under the kiss of a shining, warm sun. That’s what I told myself, anyway. It’s really more of a light blue. But I like it, and I got some fairy lights, strung ‘em up around the ceiling. It’s very pretty at night, lots of posters on the wall, papers and stuff. I like decorating my room with things that have meaning to me. A couple of the papers— I’m going to regret telling you— are lyrics I wrote. Have ‘em all memorized now, word for word, with the music behind ‘em. Everyone’s got a dream, right? Well, mine is to actually sing for someone. Make a record, maybe, get out of working retail. 

_Geralt:_ My room is black. 

_Jaskier:_ Jesus, Geralt, that’s so… 

At this point, Jaskier looked Geralt up and down and sort of sighed, a bit. 

_Jaskier:_ Yeah, that sounds like you. 

_Geralt:_ What’s that supposed to mean? 

Beanz closed at eight, so the barista was forced to usher them out right at closing. The rain was still coming down. Jaskier offered Geralt his umbrella, but Geralt declined. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

The moment Jaskier and Geralt stepped out from under Beanz’s awning, the clouds parted. 

But only above Geralt. 

A single beam of sunshine shone down, illuminating Geralt. A medallion on the end of ribbon around his neck caught the light, the wolf depicted casting small shadows on the metal. 

“Hey, sunshine, you were right! The rain cleared up for you right away!” Jaskier laughed, shouldering his umbrella. Rain pitter-pattered on the fabric. “C’mon, man, I’ve got the early shift tomorrow, we’ve got to get going.” 

Geralt sighed, staring up at the sunbeam. He looked like he was so resigned to this happening, it had gone from being annoying to normal before circling back around to annoying again. 

“Okay, okay.” He took one step and got a boot full of rainwater. “Ah, fuck.” 

“Sunshine, that’s no way to talk to your boot! What has it ever done to you, but keep you warm and dry?” Jaskier spun around, twirling his umbrella. “I’ve got an old pair at my apartment, if you can’t possibly survive the walk back to your place.” 

“To answer your question, my boots have also betrayed me and let water get through them, soaking my feet,” Geralt grumbled, sighing heavily. “And I think I might just take you up on that offer.” 

“Really?” 

“There is nothing,” Geralt said, walking past Jaskier, “that I hate more than wet socks. Nothing.” 

“I bet I can find something you hate more than wet socks,” Jaskier said, talking three steps for every one of Geralt’s to keep up with him. “Can’t be that hard. There are lots of things to hate more than wet socks. Like… Oh, I can’t think of anything.” 

“See? Told you.” 

“Meh, meh.” Jaskier paused to jump in a puddle, only to look up to find Geralt a block further away. “Hey! Wait up! You don’t even know where you’re going!” 

Geralt, ever the literalist, stopped and looked back impatiently. “You walk slow.” 

“Yeah, well, not all of us can walk faster than fucking Superman.” 

“I’m not Superman, I just walk at a normal pace.” 

“You are totally Superman. Big and buff and… speed walking,” Jaskier said wisely, gesturing to Geralt as he walked. “Emphasis on speedwalking.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I say so. So there.” 

“Hmm.” 

~

“It’s, uh. Nice?” Geralt volunteered, upon entering the apartment. 

The kitchen, which one entered into, was small, drab, and unexciting. The bathroom down the hall was more of the same. But the bedroom, Jaskier’s bedroom, was decked out in lights, and practically papered, three feet up off the ground and above, with various papers torn from notebooks and sketch pads. 

True to his word, Jaskier’s room was a sunny blue. He actually was apt when it came to describing it, though the blue was a bit lighter than “the summer sky under the kiss of a warm, shining sun”. The fairy lights, however, were just as he’d said, draped across the ceiling and twinkling faintly. 

And the walls! 

Pictures, crumpled bits of scratch paper covered in scribbled words, smudged sketches of vague ideas, and posters of bands (“The Witchers”, “Continent of Magic”, and “nospaces”, to name a few,) were tacked all over Jaskier’s walls. You could tell which bits were put there deliberately and what was tacked up there in a vain attempt not to forget it; the posters were clean and looked brand new, whereas several pieces of paper were practically peeling off the walls. 

All together, though, it was quite a nice aesthetic, and one Geralt could tell Jaskier was very proud of. 

“Very nice,” Geralt said somberly, nodding, his hands clasped in front of him. “Um. I like the, er. The lights?” 

“Oh! Those old things? They’re nothing,” Jaskier said, appearing out of nowhere next to Geralt and holding up a pair of boots. “Thanks, though.” 

The lights were obviously not nothing, though neither Jaskier nor Geralt voiced that thought aloud. 

“Are those the boots?” 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.” Jaskier held them out proudly. “Here you go! One pair of boots, order up!” 

“They’re… green.” 

It was true. The boots were, in fact, olive green. 

“It’s a nice green,” Jaskier said, pointedly holding them out a bit further. “Olive. Very nice. Too big for me, duh. I mean, look at them.” He shook the boots, forcing Geralt to look closely at the pair. 

“Well, yeah, I mean, your feet are much too small for these,” Geralt said resignedly. He took the boots from Jaskier and looked at them, as though daring them to retain their green color. “They are really fucking green though.” 

“You don’t like them?” Jaskier said, putting on his kicked puppy look. “I mean, I can put them back, I suppose, save them for the next bloke with outrageously large feet I meet who steps in a puddle and needs a new pair.” 

Geralt stared at the boots and did not reply. 

“I guess you could just wear them home and mail them back to me or something.” 

“No,” Geralt said finally, still holding out the boots. 

Jaskier sighed. “Yeah, figures.” He reached out to take the boots back. 

“Hey! I’m keeping them forever. Back off.” 

Smiling, Jaskier strode out of his bedroom and back to the kitchen. “Well, who am I to argue with the great Geralt of Rivia? Can I offer you a drink, good sir?” 

“I should be going,” Geralt said, following Jaskier’s path to the kitchen. “You have the early shift tomorrow, after all.” 

“Bullshit. I can rearrange, my boss loves me.” _My boss does not love me._ “What do you do for a living, Geralt?” 

Geralt sat down on a lone barstool chair Jaskier had pulled up next to his kitchen counter. “I travel.” 

“For a living?” 

“Reviews.” 

“Do all the reviews you give say things like, ‘Not enough black’ or ‘The nighttime atmosphere could’ve been lovely, but there were too many lights’, or ‘The coffee shop didn’t have dark roast, disgusting, 10/10 would not recommend’?” 

Geralt actually laughed. “You should be a destination critic, Jaskier, those were brilliant.” 

“Really?” 

Geralt shrugged. “Eh.” 

“Hey!” Jaskier moved as though to swat Geralt with the dishrag he was holding. “What kind of tea do you like?” 

“Black.” 

“I’m shocked,” Jaskier deadpanned, turning his back and opening a cupboard. A single box of tea sat on a shelf. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’ve got champagne raspberry or champagne raspberry.” 

“Champagne raspberry?” 

“Good choice!” Jaskier grabbed the box from the shelf and set a kettle to boil. 

“What the fuck is champagne raspberry tea?” Geralt mused, unlacing his soaked boots and placing them next to his socked feet. “Champagne is a drink. Tea is a drink. But how do they… how are they one thing together? And where does the raspberry come in?” 

“This is the most I’ve heard you talk, ever,” Jaskier said, setting two mugs on the counter. “And don’t worry, it’s non alcoholic.” 

“You just raised even more questions than you answered.” 

“So, two?”

“Shut up.” 

“Nah.” 

The kettle screeched, and Jaskier poured their tea, putting an already-used bag into his own cup but giving Geralt a new one. 

“Tell me how you like it,” Jaskier said, holding up his steaming mug. “Now I’m curious.” 

“Will do.” Geralt held up his own mug and clinked it against Jaskier’s. “To new olive green boots.” 

“To new olive green boots,” Jaskier repeated. In sync, they each took a sip of their tea. 

And spit it out immediately. 

“Hot! Hot! Too hot!” Jaskier forcefully set his mug down and began flapping is hands around frantically, as if he could expel the heat through his fingertips. “Hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot!” 

Geralt was more sophisticated, but he, too, set down his mug, though he swallowed his tea. “I can feel it burning my throat.” 

“Hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot!”

“You alright, Jaskier?” 

“Hot hot hot hot burn ow ow hot hot hot hot!” 

“Do you have cups for water?” 

Had Jaskier been in peak form, he might have said, “I’m not a restaurant waiter, you know.” Instead, he nodded and pointed at a cupboard, his other hand still flapping. 

Geralt opened the cupboard Jaskier indicated to find three plates and a single complete set of silverware. He stared at the meager offerings before closing the cupboard again and turning back to Jaskier. “Wrong one.” 

Jaskier pointed to the cupboard again, and only then did Geralt realize there had been two shelves. 

He retrieved two glasses (the only two) and filled them with tap water to the point of overflow, handing one to the still-flapping Jaskier and keeping one for himself. 

Similarly to how they had downed the tea, Jaskier and Geralt drank their waters simultaneously, too, both feeling as though they’d found an oasis in a hot, hot tea desert. 

“You know,” Geralt said slowly, setting down his water glass. “The tea has probably cooled off by now.” 

“Nope, nope, nope.” Jaskier took the tea bag out of his tea and laid it on the counter, then proceeded to pour the entirety of his now-cooled tea down the drain. “Not risking it.” 

“Fair.” Geralt followed suit, also saving the teabag. Never would he ever admit it, but the champagne raspberry tea just tasted like normal tea, and wasn’t that bad. 

“So.” Jaskier noticed, for the first time, that Geralt was shoeless. And also that he was wearing yellow socks. 

“Oh my god! You own color!” 

“What?” 

“Your socks are yellow! Color! On you! This is a day that has made history, ladies and gentlemen. Not only have I, Jaskier of Few Dishes And Even Fewer Tea Flavor Options, fallen for the guy I met like five hours ago because I thought he was a windowsill, but Geralt of Rivia, notorious goth and also withholder of personal information such as his favorite color, has worn color!” Jaskier raised a hand for a high five. 

Geralt sighed and just looked at Jaskier, then at his hand, then back at Jaskier. 

“Don’t leave me hanging, man. I made you tea.” 

Geralt tapped Jaskier’s palm with the tips of his fingers and dropped his hand. “Good?” 

“Sufficient.” 

“And I did not withhold my favorite color. It’s black. I said so.” 

Jaskier shrugged. “Yeah, but black isn’t a color, it’s the absence of color. So choose a new one.” 

“By that logic, is blue merely the lack of red?” 

“Or is blue what happens when red is removed from the equation?” 

“That would be reverse-purple.” 

“Oh, sorry, I just thought we were saying shit about colors to make ourselves sound deep and philosophical. Was that not it? Did I miss a memo?” 

Geralt rolled his eyes, but Jaskier, despite knowing him for all of five hours, knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t serious. 

“I meant to ask, before the color conversation happened. You thought I was a windowsill?” Geralt sat back down on Jaskier’s barstool. 

“You were wearing all black! I wasn’t paying attention! All the windowsills in there are black, and my chair was turned around, and you were wearing all black!”

“My socks were yellow.” 

Jaskier pulled himself up so he was sitting on the counter. “I couldn’t see your feet, much less through your obsolete black boots to analyze the color of your socks.” 

“Hm.” 

“You’ve got to have a favorite color, man. Everyone has a favorite color!” Jaskier swung his legs back and forth, just barely missing hitting his heels against the lower cupboards of his tiny kitchen. 

“I’m not everyone.” 

“We are going in circles.” Jaskier hopped off the counter and began pacing— more accurately, he walked in little circles around his kitchen, while Geralt looked on from his seat on the barstool. “I mean, I have a favorite color! Sort of. I’m torn, because on one hand, blue. Right? That’s all I have to say on that front. But, also, there’s green. Not like olive green, though I suppose that’s nice, but like… like the kind of green that plant stems are. The lively sort of green. I like green.” 

Geralt sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Hm.” 

“‘Hm’ indeed,” Jaskier said, pausing his circular route around the kitchen. “Anyway. It’s nine o’clock, ish, now, and if your place is as far away as you say it is, you should probably be getting back, right? I do have the early shift tomorrow, so. There’s that.” 

It took Geralt less than twenty seconds to put on the olive green pair of boots Jaskier had given him. He stood up and started walking towards the door. 

Jaskier followed, holding out a hand when Geralt turned around. “Until we meet again.” 

Geralt shook Jaskier’s hand once. “Indeed.” 

Geralt was outside and walking down the stairs to the ground floor of Jaskier’s apartment complex when he heard a voice from the second floor, where he’d left Jaskier. 

“Meet at Beanz tomorrow? Same place, same time?” 

Had Geralt looked up, he would’ve seen Jaskier leaning over the balcony railing, a hopeful expression on his face, completely ignoring the raindrops on the roof dripping down onto his head. 

Geralt did, in fact, turn around and look up, clearly unbothered by the rain. “Hm. I suppose.” 

Jaskier took this as a wholehearted “yes,” as he should’ve. “See you then! Hope the boots get you home alright!” 

Geralt half-waved before walking away. Jaskier watched him until he disappeared in the haze of the rain. 

It wasn’t so lonely, going back inside to his re-reused teabags and sunny blue bedroom, now that Jaskier knew that he had somebody to see, somebody who probably, at least a little tiny bit, cared. 

As he opened cupboards and threw together a dinner, of sorts, Jaskier found himself singing about the white-haired man with the goth aesthetic (not counting his bright yellow socks) who had managed to earn Jaskier’s trust in a single afternoon. 

And as Geralt walked, he found himself considering what his favorite color was. He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts, but by the time he reached home, with dry socks and new, resilient boots, Geralt of Rivia concluded that his favorite color was a bright blue, the kind that bloomed under the warm kiss of a summer sun. 

It may have been a dark and stormy night, but Jaskier and Geralt could hardly hear the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
